


The Past Is Never Where You Think You Left It

by floraloptimist



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt Derek, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2018-12-08 12:32:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11646630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floraloptimist/pseuds/floraloptimist
Summary: ❝The past is never where you think you left it.❞— Katherine Anne PorterOne death and a team of FBI Agents, trained against the worst of the worst, who've come up against murderers and rapists and the most hideous of humanity, crumble. It's easy to detach yourself from the victims you've never known, you've never laughed with, or cried with, or loved and lived with, it's easy to forget. But, when it's one of your own, there's no forgetting.Spencer Reid is dead and no one can quite believe it.





	1. Grievance

 ❝ _Life, of course, never gets anyone’s entire attention. Death always remains interesting. Holds us. Draws us._ ❞

_— Janet Malcolm_

 

* * *

 

**3rd of May, 5:47 am.**

**Approximately 30,000 feet above Milwaukee.**

**Present Day**

 

"It's been a long week, everyone should get some rest before we land." Came the voice of SSA Aaron Hotchner, encouraging the rest of his team to catch up on the sleep they'd forgone in order to put their most recent case to rest. The two manila folders he had in hand and the subtle sigh passing his lips told everyone else that he wouldn't be following his own advice, which they all knew was becoming a common reality as of late. He quickly walked to the back of the jet, away from the distraction of the team, after deciding to make some headway into the incident reports before they landed; he was desperate for some sleep tonight and he knew he wasn't getting it on the uncomfortable leather seats with such a heavy atmosphere surrounding the team.

Hotch wasn't the only one to notice the depressing air that had followed the team for the past few weeks, in fact, everyone had, but it was a matter of waiting it out to see who brought it up first, unfortunately, there seemed to be an unspoken statement between them and if one had to guess, it probably went along the lines of ' _the longer we ignore it, the longer we can go without having to face it. Without having to accept it._ '.

"What are the chances though," said Rossi, voicing his thoughts aloud - anything had to beat this silence.

It was Morgan who responded, he lowered his headphones to hang around his neck, the silence coming out of them disconcerting to anyone who knew of his ritual of listening to music on the way home from cases.  "Alright, I'll bite. Chances of what?"

"Two unsubs operating in the same area without being one-half of a partnership, I mean, those odds have got to be pretty damn low."

"Good point." Morgan's head bobbed downwards in a subtle nod and a ghost of a smile passed his lips, a quiet laugh was even coaxed from him at the quip. It wasn't even a remotely funny remark but Derek needed a reason to smile, to find some semblance of happiness in even the stupidest of things. "You know, if—" His idle comment was abruptly cut short by a monotonous voice piping up from a seat just opposite the four seater where Rossi, Morgan and JJ sat, JJ, however, was fast asleep, it was a long case.

"0.059%."

Rossi and Morgan both turned their gaze to the source of the voice, which happened to be a rather tall figure with a short pixie cut, her pursed lips reminding Rossi eerily of his seventh-grade teacher, (he bristled at the memories). The person in question was child psychology expert turned Supervisory Special Agent, Elizabeth Kane, newly transferred into the BAU little over two weeks ago. The expression on their faces presumably conveyed the facial equivalent of _'I don't know what you said or why you said it',_ as the female felt inclined to repeat herself, only this time with the added benefit of an explanation.

"The odds of two unknown subjects operating in the same area at the same time is 0.059%." She spoke slow and deliberately, like in the way someone would dumb down a somewhat complicated subject for a child, except there were two prominent issues: Morgan and Rossi were neither children nor incapable of listening to someone talk like a normal human being.

"...Thanks." Rossi murmured in response, knowing her seemingly innocent response hit too close to home for the Agent. It was Rossi's quick intervention that stopped the new Agent from getting an undeserved shout at, his foot not so lightly tapped against Morgan's leg and he caught his eye. Morgan knew it was wrong of him to even consider taking out everything on her, she hadn't done anything wrong, except. . . she had. Unknowingly, perhaps, but was it really so wrong of him to be angry?

After a moment of eye contact with Rossi who was silently attempting to dissuade him, he relented and leaned back in his seat, opting to put his headphones back on to listen to some music, though if Rossi didn't know better, he could've sworn Morgan was listening to someone. . . scream? Rossi shook off the notion, as it was gone as quickly as it came and his focus was turned to the latest novel which had caught his attention, whilst Agent Kane, very aware that her presence wasn't wanted, returned to some unknown activity on her tablet. 

 

It was a quiet ride until touchdown in Quantico, the only consistent sound during the two-hour ride being the scratching of Hotch's pen over the papers he knew he would inevitably have to rewrite, his insomnia finally catching up to him and making his writing practically indecipherable.

"Alright, everybody go home, get some sleep and don't bother coming in tomorrow. You've got the day off." Hotch ordered, a small smile upturning the corners of his lips at the evident relief on his Agent's faces.

"What about you?" Asked Rossi, eyebrows raised at his boss. 

"I've got some files to write up, so I'll be in my office if anyone needs me."

Rossi rolled his eyes and made a mental note to have a talk with him about all these extra hours he was talking on, but with that, everyone went their separate ways, several variations of 'get some rest' and 'good night' being thrown around before everyone left the office. JJ was eager to get home and get some rest, the last case having required her to take a much more active role than usual what with the media having a field day, two killers in the same town and both killing at the same time? Conspiracy theorists were going nuts. Then there was Henry and Will who she hadn't seen in just under a week; needless to say, she was in a hurry.

Rossi had gone home to relax, to follow the same routine he did every time they returned from a case. First, he phoned his daughter to see if she had written any new articles he could read, then wishing her a good morning and ' _I hope I didn't wake you_ ', thankfully, she understood, like she always did, the hectic and all too erratic nature of their cases meant that 'good morning' was synonymous with 'good night'. Secondly, he made himself some food, the _merda_  that they were forced to eat whilst on duty wouldn't pass for even a rat's dinner. All of this before finally settling down on his recliner, to lose himself in his books and his liquor.

Morgan would've gone to see Garcia like he had been doing most nights, where they would eventually go to her's together to watch some animated films as they tried to ignore the hole in their lives, Garcia had even been upping her game by slipping on Doctor Who every now and then, insisting that ' _any man worth the supreme Goddess that is yours truly has seen Doctor Who. You can't be all brawn and no brains, hot stuff_.' But today, he needed to have a small talk with Hotch, he assured his baby girl that he would be ten minutes, max, and slipped out into the bullpen.

 

He weaved through the early morning rush of coming and going Agents, the bullpen slowly being filled with the chatter of both the mundane and matters of National importance, blending seamlessly with the ceaseless drone of incoming phone calls.

"Hey, Hotch?" Derek announced his presence as he opened the slightly ajar door. "Mind if I speak with you for a minute?"

Hotch glanced down at the paperwork he had yet to do and the ever growing stack of piles beside him, but he knew this talk was coming and he was eager to welcome a break.

"Sure, what is it?"

Derek nodded his head as a means of saying thanks and shut the door behind him, moving behind the chair opposite his desk but refusing to sit down.

"Agent Kane."

"Morgan—" Hotch's tone was one of warning, telling him to drop the topic there and then. Neither of them were ready to reopen this barely closed wound.

"No! Hotch, man, come on!" Derek shouted, his fingers gripping the top of the chair back, his knuckles growing white. "I can understand a new Agent, I can, I mean, we were a man down, we needed an extra pair of hands to help out on cases. We needed a clear head, I get that, I do. But did you have to pick her?"

Hotch kept his face blank save for that stern expression that only wavered when he was around Jack, his face was devoid of any emotion, but to his team, those that had been with him for over a decade. . . they could see past that, they could see the grief in his behaviour; how he buried himself in his work, how he refused to sleep because he wasn't ready to face the nightmares.

"She spouts out facts like she's a walking Wikipedia, acts like she knows everything and she even tried to take his desk. Garcia nearly ripped her a new one, Hotch. _Garcia_ , the woman who gets downright mortified at the thought of hurting a damn fly, the woman who bakes treats when she knows we've all got a long night, Garcia who can't bear to see the darkness in the world but endures it anyway so she can help people. Come on man, you know this isn't right."

His anger soon turned to something akin to desperation as he tried to get Hotch to say something, anything in his defence on choosing Agent Kane when he had the pick of the litter in choosing from all the best Agents the FBI could offer.

"It wasn't my choice. Not fully." He admitted, giving in to Morgan's relentless interrogation, knowing he was just taking his grief out on anyone and he was more than happy to be the verbal punching bag. "The Section Chief - Cruz, he and some other of the higher ups decided I wasn't in the right frame of mind to make an accurate choice in picking a new Agent, and they thought similarities would help the team 'adjust'."

" _Adjust_?" Repeated Morgan exasperatedly, his fingers loosened from their rock solid grip on the chair, though Hotch knew he would probably be 'renovating' a new house sometime soon. "What a bunch of bull. Please, find someone else. I am begging you here."

And with that, Morgan turned heel and strode out of the office, leaving Hotch to ponder on his words. On his way out, he bumped into a small figure and muttered a hasty apology before going to find Garcia, ignoring the fact that Agent Kane may have been standing outside the entire time Morgan had been in there, listening to every word.

 

Morgan found himself back in Garcia's office, the stress evident on his face as he walked in but the tears in her eyes more so. He didn't even need to ask, the many monitors she had scattered in the room showed just one thing; Hotch's office - she'd hacked into the security camera and listened in on everything. Quietly sighing, he just sat down and held her as she quietly sobbed into his shoulder and it took everything in him to stop himself from doing the same.

"I miss him, Derek." Her voice was barely above her whisper and she couldn't find it in her to stop the tears.

"Me too, baby girl. Me too." He murmured in return, glancing at a photo on her desk of Reid and Garcia at some convention he hadn't bothered to learn the name of yet, there was just too many, but his updated knowledge of Doctor Who told him that they were both cosplaying as some variant of The Doctor. He shook his head, a smile gracing his lips at the picture, his eyes then wandered down to the inscription on the bottom of the frame:

' **In Loving Memory of Dr Spencer Reid**.'

* * *

 ❝ _The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living._ ❞

_— Marcus Tullius Cicero_

 


	2. Decisions

_❝Fear is the parent of cruelty, and therefore it is no wonder if cruelty and religion have gone hand in hand._ ❞ 

_— Bertrand Russell_

* * *

**12th of February, 7:34 pm.**

**Cheyenne, Wyoming.**

**Three Months Ago**

 

"Alright princess, I'm with Reid, tell us what you got on one John Buddish."

"Ask and you shall receive, sugar. John Buddish is in fact Father John Buddish, a man of the cloth, and lemme tell you, God is not on his side as his life is a sad, sad roller-coaster that just keeps going down. He was kinda like the raisin of the family."

"Raisin?" Morgan repeated quizzically, raising his eyebrows at Reid. "You're gonna have to give me a bit more than that."

"Yeah, a raisin, as in the one thing that ruins cookies. See, at first glance the Buddish's look like your classic American family, you know, devout Catholics, did bake sales, charity events, coached some soccer clubs, and all the rest of it. Their life reads like a how-to guide on being model citizens. They had the whole nuclear family thing going on, two happy parents, no signs of any marital struggles, no shady bank transfers or super secret therapy sessions. They even had two kids, a boy and a girl to complete the whole shebang."

"I sense a 'but' coming."

"And right you are, you sir, have earned yourself a cookie. The chocolate kind, not the disgusting raisin-y kind. Anyway, so the Buddish's are basically the perfect embodiment of the American Dream, right?" The two second pause indicated she expected some sort of confirmation but quickly got back to explaining before anyone could get a word in edgewise. "Right! But, you know me, I did a little digging and it turns out Mr and Mrs All-American had a third child, that being John Buddish. See, now that wouldn't be that shady on it's own, but Buddish's last name has been changed _twice._ First when he was just 7, to Smith, and again when he was 19 but it was changed _back_ to Buddish, which is why a took a little longer to find because he was buried under mountains of legal paperwork and not to mention the amount of John Smith's in Wyoming alone is ridiculous."

"Garcia," now it was Reid's turn to chime in on the conversation, making a quick glance back to the chapel they had just exited. "Why would the parents change his name back to the family name after changing it?"

"See, that's the thing. It was the parent's names on the court documents for the first name change, but it was John's on the second. And that's not all, according to Mrs and Mr Buddish's browser history, they weren't just devoted, they were _devoted_ devoted, like, they're signed up to seven different faith websites and boy, oh boy, all their posts are about how their son is a demon sent from the pits of Hell to test them, that they need to 'cleanse' him, and a whole lot of other stuff that, in a nutshell, admits to all sorts of neglect and abuse on the poor boy. According to some of their more tame postings they reckon John changed his name back to Buddish to smear the family reputation and what have you."

"Does it say anywhere why the Buddish's thought their son was a demon?" Asked Reid, knowing that it usually stemmed from a medical issue that is heavily misinterpreted by religious beliefs. The only sound through the speaker was the sound of keys being pressed in rapid succession before Garcia finally found what she was looking for.

"Uh. . . yep, John suffered from epileptic fits induced by stress which they thought was actually him communicating with the Devil."

"Alright thanks mama, send us everything you got, including the Buddish's online activity."

"Already done and done."

Morgan chucked and shook his head; he should've expected that. "I owe you."

"Damn right you do."

And with that, she hung up, leaving Morgan and Reid to comb through their findings.

The case they were investigating was a number of unexplained deaths, all the victims being prostitutes or frequent drug users, found stabbed to death in a crude ritualistic manner near or inside churches or religious spaces, notably related to Catholicism. Through the use of geographical profiling, religious affiliations and medical records for anything that pointed to signs of a religious psychosis, the BAU had managed to compile a list of potential suspects, though, with John Buddish being a member of the clergy, he was one of the first to be interviewed. Despite Hotch's stern glare that said everything he needed to, Morgan insisted he was fine to go along with Reid to the church, even noting Reid's efforts to see if they could interview someone else but the team was spread thin enough as it is.

"Did something seem off about him to you?" Asked Morgan, turning to Reid. 

"Yeah, he kept tugging at his collar like he was nervous, he couldn't wait to get rid of us." He answered, unconsciously tugging at his own sweater vest, the unusual heat of the day stifling him a little. "We should keep an eye on him."

Morgan nodded in agreement, unlocking his phone again to dial Hotch, but he had barely unlocked it before Reid's voice caught his attention. He turned to find Reid making a beeline for the SUV and their suspect speeding down the street.

"Damn it, we must have spooked him. Come on, he's either got another victim on hand or he's on his way to get one." Morgan joined Reid in the SUV, the sirens flickering to life as they pursued their suspect. Morgan handed his phone over to Reid, who then dialled Hotch's number and put it on loudspeaker. It took a minute for their team leader to pick up but he did, and he didn't sound particularly impressed - the team of officers he was working with weren't too fond of the FBI coming in and taking over their case, despite having been invited in.

"Did you get anything on Buddish?" He asked, his voice tinted with annoyance and Reid could practically see the face of his superior, eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed to produce that piercing gaze.

"Uh, yeah. He's made a run for it in a black SUV, the plates are—" Reid paused briefly to squint at the vehicle quite a way ahead of them. "—2 2 9 Yankee X-ray. He's heading down 18th Street, we think he's either got a hostage or he's gone to get one."

"Alright, thanks. Don't lose him, I'll get out an APB on him and set up a road block."

"We won't," Morgan promised.

And with that, Hotch hung up and the two continued their pursuit. They knew he would be reckless now that he had the FBI on his tail, so they needed to be careful to ensure that no more innocent people got hurt because of his own grandiose delusions.

"If we can find out where his end destination is we'll be able direct Hotch or a couple of officers to intercept him, possibly even saving the lives of any hostages he has." Reid suggested, pulling up Garcia's number once again and dialling.

Before Garcia even had time to greet her two favourite boys with a peppy and, more often than not, self indulgent line, Morgan interrupted her.

"Sorry to be a pain baby girl but we're in a hurry, we need to know any and all locations nearby that Buddish has ties to."

"I'm on it, but you're going to have to narrow this down a little sweet cheeks."

"Buildings with religious significance to him," Reid offered, glancing nervously at the road and the car they were chasing. "Are there any chapels or churches nearby?"

"I'm sorry, all I can find is the church you lot just came from and a Catholic medical centre, something to do with faith healing?" Rapid typing could be heard on Garcia's and, along with a brief silence. "Looks like they were the ones who diagnosed his fits as the devil communication and all that, a real shady bunch. I'm sending you the coordinates now."

"Send 'em to Hotch too and tell him to get a team there, ASAP."

"Done and done. Oh. Oh—!" A high pitched squeal caused Reid to pull away from the phone, his expression contorted into one of confusion. "I've found something, there's an old motel, it's abandoned now but, listen to this, it used to Buddish's old home but due to debts and what have you, it got bought out. I bet that's where he's headed."

"You're a blessing, talk to you later mama."

And for what felt like the millionth time, they hung up and continued to pursue their unsub who seemed to be showing no sign of relenting or slowing down. Eventually, they arrived at the god forsaken motel, the sign too faded to be legible and the pastor's SUV parked haphazardly out front. Now they had to make a decision.

"Reid, you know the drill. We've got to wait for back up." Morgan urged, but the worry seeped into his voice and his roaming eyes, glancing back and forth from the abandoned motel to the streets where they were stood, hoping to see the telltale blue and red flashing lights or a SWAT van.

 

 

"Morgan, we profiled this guy as an disorganized, mission orientated serial killer with a religious psychosis. We saw him drag that poor girl out of his car with him. He doesn't  _want_ to kill her, he _needs_  to kill her, and there's only so long that his rationality can hold out against his psychosis, If we don't go in there she's going to die."

"We don't know if there's others in there Reid, we go in now, we'll be putting them all in danger."

"He's too disorganized to hold more than one girl at a time, and no other missing persons were filed in the past week."

"He chooses high risk victims, the likelihood of someone filing a missing persons report for them is next to nothing."

"Is that an assumption we can afford to take?"

Even as Reid and Morgan argued their thoughts on the idea, the clock was ticking and the girl's chances at survival were dwindling with every passing second. Morgan clenched his teeth together and a ran a hand over his head, his frustration evident. If they hadn't spooked him at his job earlier that day, they wouldn't be in this mess. He quickly ran his mind back over their profile, and tried to figure out the best course of action through their unsub's past.

So, Reid broke protocol and ran in. Derek shouted for him, divided between providing him cover and waiting for backup, but his decision was made once he heard the gunshot reverberate through the building.

Morgan felt himself go cold.

* * *

 

❝ _Hope is being able to see that there is light, despite all of the darkness._ ❞  
_  
__— Desmond Tutu_


End file.
